


When The Dream Ends

by lucycourageous



Category: Legally Blonde - All Media Types, Legally Blonde - Hach/O'Keefe/Benjamin
Genre: Angst, Character Study, F/M, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, callahan is a scumbag, warner is also highly suspect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26748754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucycourageous/pseuds/lucycourageous
Summary: Elle cries as she leaves Callahan’s office. She can’t help it. Like the wounded animal she is, she flees into the night, heading for her dorm room, desperately seeking the safety and familiarity of home.But it's not far enough.Elle's thoughts after leaving Callahan's office.
Relationships: Emmett Forrest/Elle Woods
Comments: 10
Kudos: 92





	When The Dream Ends

**Author's Note:**

> I know this scene has been done to death but anyway, here are my two cents on Elle's thought process during 'Legally Blonde'.

Elle cries as she leaves Callahan’s office. She can’t help it. She can remember the pride she felt at being chosen for the internship, but it’s like something that happened to someone else, someone better. In this moment, she feels like she’s never been happy before and never will be again.

There’s no doubt in her mind that Callahan’s done this before; he manoeuvred her too easily and with far too much pleasure for this to be the first time. She wonders what happened to the other women. Did they swallow the shame and soldier on, knowing that it might happen again? Maybe some of them dared to come forward only to be told they were mistaken or hysterical or outright lying. 

The awful thing is that it doesn’t really matter which it was: the outcome is the same. He’s been allowed to carry on living his life as if nothing happened, free to keep doing whatever he wants, safe in the knowledge that none of them can hurt him the way he hurt them. He didn’t even seem thrown when she slapped him, just raised his hand to his cheek with an expression of amused curiosity. The soft light of his tasteful, antique office lamp glinted on his equally tasteful wedding band, on sharp white teeth bared in a smile that made her feel more helpless than she ever had in her life. Not a woman, not a person, just prey cowering in the shadow of an apex predator. 

Like the wounded animal she is, she flees into the night, heading for her dorm room, desperately seeking the safety and familiarity of home. But halfway there, she realises it’s not far enough. Even though Callahan fired her from the internship, she’ll still have to see him around campus, Warner too – Warner, whose scathing words are still ringing in her ears. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised that he would turn on her so completely, but she was, horribly. He obviously doesn’t love her anymore, but she’d never known he could be so cruel. 

The idea of sitting quietly in class scant feet from either of them is intolerable: she has to get away from Harvard. She wants to go _home_. 

She misses her friends, her family, the warmth of the sun; she doesn’t think she’s been properly warm the entire time she’s been on this awful, frigid piece of coast. 

She tells herself that everything – Callahan’s dismissal, Warner’s betrayal, her own pain and disappointment – will hurt less once she’s home. 

She has no idea if that’s true or not. 

She calls the airline anyway and books a flight back to California for tomorrow afternoon, so she has time to pack what she needs. She can tell the college that she has a family emergency, then once she’s back in Malibu she can go through the process of formally dropping out and getting all of her things sent back home. 

It helps, a little, to have a plan. And being on the phone forces her to stop crying at least. She makes sure to thank the customer service woman politely for her help before hanging up. 

Packing next. Her favourite clothes, something comfortable for the plane. Bruiser, of course. A decent handbag, phone, a magazine to distract herself with, something glossy and uncomplicated that will fit everyone’s expectations nicely. She can put her books in her check-in bag- her mind stumbles to a halt. She doesn’t need the heavy law books anymore, could just leave them sitting on her desk collecting dust until someone comes to clear the room out. But…maybe she won’t. Maybe she’ll take them to the library, find a way to donate them to someone else who needs them, a bright-eyed enthusiastic future law student who can’t afford them new. That’s what Emmett would do. 

_Oh, God. Emmett._

“Hey, there she is!” 

She pulls up short, her already battered heart dropping to the floor. 

He’s waiting for her outside her door, his collar unbuttoned, his tie loose and his face glowing with warmth and pride. He looks almost painfully handsome. “Intern of the year.” 

She hopes she’s still far enough away that he won’t see her wince. She knows he means well – Emmett doesn’t have a bad bone in his body and would never, ever hurt her – but the compliment is salt in her wounds. She’s Callahan’s intern of the year only insofar as she was the most fuckable of the four of them, his top pick based solely on the assumption that she’d be accommodating when he wanted her and easily silenced when he was done. 

Elle tastes bile in the back of her throat and has to swallow it down before she can speak. Her voice isn’t quite steady, but it’s as close to normal as she can manage right now. “Oh, hi.” 

Emmett cocks his head, visibly surprised by her lack of exuberance, “Everything okay?” 

“Of course,” she says. She does her best, but it rings false. She can see him starting to frown and hurries on before he has a chance to probe further – there’s something she needs to say before the inevitable ugliness, “Listen, I wanted to thank you.” 

He’s watching her carefully, no longer leaning easily against her door but standing straight, concerned and alert. He’s always been able to see her better than anyone else, and she’s never wanted to hide from him before, but right now she wishes he were a little less observant, a little less skilled at reading her. She doesn’t want to tell him about Callahan unless she absolutely has to. 

“Thank me for what?” 

“Everything you’ve done for me. The tutoring, helping me get Paulette’s dog back, all of it. You already work so hard, you didn’t have to give up so much of your time, especially for a hopeless case like me.” 

She tries to make it sound joking and light, but nothing she tries is working and her words come out bitter instead. Emmett’s jaw clenches but when he speaks his tone is gentle and firm. 

“You’re not a hopeless case, Elle, you never were.” 

She hums, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, not trusting herself to speak again. 

“What’s brought this on? Half an hour ago, you were…”

He moves towards her, one hand reaching tentatively into the space between them as though to hold her hand. The movement reignites her raw nerves, startling her into taking a step back. 

Emmett comes to an abrupt halt, worry flashing across his face, and she didn’t think she could feel worse, but she does. She never wanted to hurt him.

“Elle,” he says, gravely serious all of a sudden, “please, tell me what’s wrong.” 

She’s never thought of herself as a coward before, but she has to lower her gaze now, unable to meet his eyes when she tells him. 

“I’m leaving. I’m dropping out.” 

His shock is palpable. It chills the air around him, making her shiver, and she longs fiercely to be back in California, where nothing was ever difficult or painful and there will be no cold nights to remind her of the boy with blue eyes and curly hair who, without thinking twice, tucked his hoodie around her shoulders to keep her warm. 

“I don’t understand,” he says finally, “why?” His voice sounds tight, as if he’s trying hard not to let his emotions flash out at her, but his eyes are unhappy and he can’t seem to stand still; his right hand automatically goes to his hair to push it back, forgetting that it’s already slicked back with gel, and one foot is tapping anxiously. 

“I’m sorry, Emmett. I know I’m letting everyone down.” It’s neither an explanation nor a decent apology, and they both know it. 

He holds her gaze, “That’s not an answer.” 

What can she say? He’s right, after all. 

She reaches for him automatically, because for her touch has always been the clearest way to give and receive comfort. He lets her close the gap between them but stays carefully still himself, his face suddenly pale and tired in the fluorescent light. She puts her hands on his chest, feeling the warmth of him through his new shirt, smooths down his suit lapels, neatens his undone shirt collar. 

“I can’t explain right now, but I will, someday.” She hears him take a quick shaky breath, and when she dares to snatch a glance at his face, he looks so miserable that her resolve almost breaks. Looking away, she pushes on, “Maybe I could give you a call once I’m home. Or…you could come visit sometime.” 

“Elle… There’s something you should know-”

She looks at his desperate, hopeful expression, the sudden flush in his cheeks and on the tips of his ears and knows exactly what he wants to say. 

It comes to her not in a flash, all thunder and lightning and revelation, but like a blurry image finally coming into perfect focus – something she already had a sense of but couldn’t see clearly until now. 

_Oh._

Emmett loves her. 

And even more astounding, she thinks she loves him too. 

Time seems to slow, her misery superseded by her bewilderment. 

How long has she loved him without realising it? How long has he loved her? Since yesterday? Last week? Last month? Longer? A hundred memories surface and disappear in quick succession: Emmett casually turning up to Callahan’s class with a cup of her favourite coffee because he knew she was too busy to get one herself that day; Elle sitting on her bed at midnight on a Tuesday in November while Emmett quizzed her, his puffy, tired eyes lighting up with glee every time she answered a question correctly; the two of them standing side by side out on the quad over winter break, their breath fogging in the air as together they watched the fat fluffy snowflakes tumble silently down through the bare branches of the trees. 

Soft, fleeting moments, gone before she could blink, but looking back, she can see how each one paved the way for this moment, this rush of understanding. 

It’s not the kind of love story she’s used to – with Warner everything was so fast, so unambiguous, the very definition of love at first sight – but she finds that she likes it a lot, the idea that their relationship has grown like the roots of a tree, slow and steady and unobserved until suddenly they both looked down and realised how closely entwined they were. 

Just in time for her to tear herself away from him. 

She can’t bear to let him finish his sentence. It isn’t fair. 

“Em, Callahan hit on me.” 

Oh, but it hurts to watch the light drain out of his eyes, to see the confusion and dawning anger in his expression, “He what?” 

“He kissed me-” Her voice breaks and she has to swallow before she can continue, “Then he fired me and he made it very clear that I don’t belong here. He only gave me the internship in the first place so that he could-”

Though she knows it isn’t directed at her, the shock and disgust on his face are awful, and she bolts for her door. Her hand closes on the doorknob but he follows her, presses his hand to the wood to keep it shut. 

“He’s wrong.” His voice is sharp with indignation and her heart breaks with the inevitability of a gavel striking wood and the sudden sting of a slap to the face. 

Elle shakes her head, too tired to do much more, “Emmett, please. I’m going home.” 

“We can fix it. Listen to me, Elle, we’ll fight it." 

He looks at her, and though he's desperate, his gaze is steady, sincere - he really means it. Gratitude and guilt claw at her throat, making it impossible to speak. Unlike Warner, Emmett is unquestioningly on her side. No doubtful frowns or snide remarks; not only does he believe her, he’s willing to stand with her, help her push back. 

But she can’t let him, not when he’s been working for years to get where he is, not if there’s even the slightest chance that standing up to Callahan might jeopardise his career. 

So even though she feels like she’s made out of broken glass, she makes herself soft, presses her hand gently to Emmett’s cheek, noticing with a pang how his eyes widen and his breath stops in his throat at her touch. “Emmett. There’s no reason for me to stay.” 

It’s the cruellest thing she’s ever knowingly said to anyone, let alone her best friend. 

He falls back, stunned, and she finally manages to get her door open. She slips inside and stands there with her back up against the door, waiting for the sound of him walking away from her and out of her life; but it doesn’t come. 

Instead, she hears him lay his hands on the door, and when he speaks, he sounds so close she thinks he must be resting his forehead against the wood. 

“Elle, if you’re listening…”

She closes her eyes and focuses on committing the rise and fall of his voice to memory, the way he pauses to organise his thoughts before he continues. Emmett is never careless. She wishes she could tell him just how much she loves that about him. 

“I want to say that you do belong here – you’re so smart, and you’ve worked so hard these last couple months. I hope you stay, not just because I…”

It’s not just a door between them now, it’s his unspoken confession too, and the way he stops himself from saying it now makes her think that he knows she deliberately prevented him from voicing it earlier. For a moment, the temptation to open the door and let him in - to apologise, to try and explain, to tell him that yes, she knows he loves her and yes, she loves him too - is so strong that she actually finds herself reaching for the doorknob. Maybe he’s right, maybe if she lets him help her…

Callahan's voice is loud and mocking in the back of her mind. _“I thought you were smarter than that.”_

Her hand drops back to her side at once and her breath leaves her in a rush, her face hot with shame and anger. 

Emmett clears his throat and continues, “Not just because I want you to but because you’ve earned it. I really mean that.” 

She stays silent, wondering if he’s going to say anything else; she doesn’t know whether she wants him to or not. 

She doesn't get to find out because Emmett doesn't speak again. All she hears is the faintest suggestion of a sigh, and after a moment, his footsteps fading down the corridor. 

Such soft sounds, but so terribly final. 

Over on his little bed in the corner, Bruiser whines, perhaps sensing her mood, or perhaps just wondering why she hasn’t come over to cuddle him yet. 

Elle goes to him at once, scooping the little dog up in her arms and pressing a kiss to his soft head. For a moment, she just stands there hugging him, her temples throbbing with the beginnings of a headache and her heart feeling like it's been trampled by the entire UCLA football team. And cheerleaders.

She should probably call her parents, she thinks, let them know she’s coming home – but she can’t quite face another conversation like the one she just had with Emmett, not right now anyway. 

So she starts packing instead, working slowly, methodically. She begins with the least painful items first: summer clothes that she never got to wear here in Boston and so have no unpleasant memories attached to them, the sweats that she only wore to lounge around her dorm in, tucked up with Bruiser on a Sunday night. Her academic materials she ignores completely, not even looking at the piles of notes and flash cards on her desk – she doesn’t think she can stomach the cheerful neon of her highlighters. 

One suitcase is full and she’s beginning on another when she finds it, tucked into the corner of a drawer. Emmett’s grey hoodie, the same one he lent her the night of the party at Vivian’s. Hesitantly, Elle picks it up, running her hands over the soft, worn fabric. 

She returned it to him at the end of that first night, as requested, realising after his admission about his background that he probably didn’t have a lot of spare hoodies lying around at home. But then, not one week later, Emmett noticed her shivering as they walked across campus to her dorm – the temperature had dropped drastically as they entered November, and she hadn’t gotten around to buying herself a warm enough jacket yet. The next thing she knew, Emmett was pressing a familiar grey bundle into her cold hands, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth: “I want that back.” 

It became a kind of game between them. Sometimes she had the hoodie for an afternoon, sometimes for weeks at a time, but she always returned it – and Emmett always found an excuse to lend it to her again. She can't remember when the last time was, but it must have been a while ago if it's been in her drawer long enough for her to forget it was there. 

Her packing forgotten, Elle lifts the hoodie to her face, breathing in the familiar smell of Emmett’s detergent. She barely even knew that was a scent she recognised until now, but it’s instantly comforting - it reminds her of dark winter evenings spent over at his chilly little apartment, bundled up in a blanket and struggling through a pile of case notes while Emmett made tea in the tiny kitchen. When she goes home, all of her best memories - the only good ones from this whole fiasco - will be of him.

She can't leave without telling him that.

She goes to her desk, flipping to a fresh page in the closest legal pad. For a moment, she stares at the blank lines, wondering what to write. Simple is better, she decides. 

_Emmett,_

_Sorry for holding on to this for so long! Thank you again for letting me borrow it, and for everything else. You will always be the best thing about this place._

She pauses, her heart beating fast in her throat - for a moment, she thinks she’s going to cry again, and she draws back from the paper, not wanting to blot it. This might be the worst night of her life, but she'll be damned if she's going to be _that_ clichéd. When the tightness in her chest eases a little, she picks up the pen again.

_Good luck with the trial and call me if you get the chance._

_Love,_

_Elle_

It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing. She can drop the note off along with the sweatshirt at Emmett's apartment before she goes to say goodbye to Paulette. 

Turning back to her closet, she grabs a few more things to shove into a suitcase, but her heart isn't really in it. All she really wants to do now is go to sleep. When she does collapse into bed, though, she's too heartsick and weary to relax.

It's only when she reaches out to grab Emmett's hoodie - a little self-conscious but too tired to care - and bundles it up in her arms, curling herself around it like a child with a favourite toy, that sleep finally comes.

**Author's Note:**

> Coming up with a title for this was really hard, but I felt like doing some real angsty angst for a change. Kudos and comments much appreciated!


End file.
